


Groom's Bridal

by OneMoreWander



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bridal Shop, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Semi-flirting, Waylon is a ditz, humor?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreWander/pseuds/OneMoreWander
Summary: It's his fourth time coming to this shop in a single week, and if Waylon feels an obsession coming along he's not obligated to say so. Although, standing around in a store and not buying anything does look suspicious.





	

This is his fourth time in a single week coming here, and the realization makes him believe that visiting the small, family owned bridal shop is becoming routine. Possibly a steady obsession, but he doesn’t think it has reached that point yet, so he’s just going to ignore the thought.

For now, Waylon contents himself by pacing the rows of tall racks and running his fingers gently along the soft fabrics. The dresses vary in size, color, style, material, and most prominently, price. While the ones in the back are gorgeous and just on the edge of affordable, the dresses in the front are extremely expensive. They are a wonder to the eye - beautiful, in every definition of the word. Clearly made with painstaking precision and patience, every stitch is sealed and only visible at very close inspection, nonexistent to those who hardly care to look. They consist of pristine whites and creamy tans, like sweet vanilla molded into clothing. He is staring at one from a shorter rack opposite the display with admiration in his eyes.

Rapt in the piece, Waylon does not notice the person sauntering behind him until a deep cough draws his attention. “Wha- hi!” he says, jerking around to face the tall stranger. The man quirks a lopsided smile, and a wave of familiarity hits Waylon. “You’re the cashier,” he says dumbly.

The man chuckles and it sounds simultaneously heavenly and eerie. “On most days,” he says. “And this is your fourth time coming this week-“ _shit,_ “-are you in need of any assistance? I apologize for not offering my services earlier. It was just that you always disappeared before I could approach you.”

Did he really do that? Heat creeps up Waylon’s neck and he tries to still the spread by gulping down a long, cool breath. He suspects that it does nothing to quell his embarrassment, but a man could try. Waylon pinches his left forefinger in a bad habit that comes from frequent typing and having his fingers in motion. He moves his gaze from the cashier’s face to a set of long dresses past the man’s shoulder. “Sorry. Uh, I’m not here for anything in particular,” he mumbles, “just looking around.”

“For four days?” the man quips, and the comment immediately brings back Waylon’s blush.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he blurts.

The cashier doesn’t waste a second. He closes in on Waylon quickly and pats his shoulder, a brief contact that shouldn’t have been able to send so much intimidation, guilt, and a tinge of something else through Waylon. “Well,” the man says, “I suppose I’ll just have to figure out your tastes and go from there.”

The computer technician bites his lower lip, feeling the strong urge to put some distance between them, but also knowing that he must already look suspicious. Instead, he settles for slinking out from the man’s grasp.

“Um…okay,” Waylon says. Damn, he sounds like a caught mouse.

The cashier seems to not mind. He ushers Waylon away from the exceedingly pricey masterpieces, and towards the more affordable ones located in large collections in the middle of the shop. They stop in front of a row of satin dresses.

“How tall is she?”

Waylon blinks. “She?”

“Yes, she,” the man says slowly. His eyes narrow slightly when Waylon furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Your fiancée, sir. I’ll need to know how tall she is before we can pick out dresses.” He tilts his chin. “Do you know her height?”

How it’s possible for Waylon to blush any deeper, he does not know. His lips twitch out of embarrassment and a very sheepish laugh escapes. “About that, sir,” he starts and feels something twist in his gut. “I’m not engaged, and I wasn’t here looking for a dress for a woman.”

The frown on the cashier’s face is highly suspicious, and Waylon wouldn’t be surprised if he is kicked out in no less than two seconds from now. He tries to step back but the man’s incredulous stare hammers him in place. God, he shouldn’t have come here today, but there’s no way to turn back time and tell himself to sit his ass at home. Sadly. Flustered, Waylon looks anywhere except at the person directly in front of him and, oh, those flowers on the counter really complete the color scheme. Adds vibrancy to the back wall and contrasts with the-

“My sincere apologies, sir,” the man says suddenly. His eyes have gone wide, blue irises resembling the ocean and its waves. His lips are in a tight line but his features are not tense. Waylon doubts that the man is mad, so he forgets being kicked out for now, but that doesn’t exactly answer why the man is staring at him like this. It’s unnerving, to say the least. And Waylon is on the verge of prompting the man to speak when he asks, carefully, “How tall… How tall are you, then?”

_Oh, no._

“I’m not here for myself!” Waylon interjects quickly, abashed, his own eyes widening and staring at the man in panic. This time he follows his gut and steps away from the man, although their proximity is still too close for him to feel comfortable. Or maybe it’s because Waylon was assumed to be shopping for himself, in a women’s _bridal shop._ “I was just looking around.”

“You have spent four visitations here eyeing the same collection with no purpose besides satisfying your need for beauty?” The man asks and wow, what a mouthful.

Waylon cringes. “Yes?” he says weakly, and yes, he knows that he sounds pathetic and like a liar, possibly a thief. And if the man’s scrutiny is anything to go by, he’s starting to think that Waylon is a thief, too.

“Why are you here?” he asks with a hint of hostility in his voice. It is just an undertone, but Waylon is wary of finding out what the man’s voice is like when he’s mad.

“I was just- ah, this place is pretty interesting so I was just...surveying,” he gestures to a rack of dresses. “Those caught my eye. Great pieces,” he says, and then realizes that he’s pointing at the most expensive works. God _damn it._

“Mmhm,” the man says before sighing and grabbing Waylon by the shoulders. He turns the shorter man so that he’s behind him and starts walking towards the door. Waylon tries to walk forward in order to slip from the man’s grasp, because he definitely didn’t need to be shoved out of the shop, but the cashier is too tall and two of Waylon’s steps equal one of his. It’s a shame, a very frustrating one at that, but Waylon bites his tongue and only permits himself to growl.

The hands finally drop when they reach the door, and then the cashier is moving to hold it open. Standing over Waylon with an eyebrow raised and a glint in his eye that is difficult to place, the light hits him in the strangest of ways.

“Have a good night,” he calls when Waylon steps out of the shop and on to the sidewalk. Waylon just gives him a sideways glance and extremely fake grin before huffing and turning on his heel to head home.

            It is not until the technician is shuffling into his living room and shrugging off his sweater that he finds a small, plastic business card wedged halfway underneath the sweater's collar.

It reads:

 

**_Eddie Gluskin,_ ** _celebrated tailor / designer_

**_Contact_ **

_Personal Phone and Fax Respectively: (719) XXX-XXXX, (719) XXX-XXXX  
Email: _ [ _e.gluskin@groomsbridals.com_ ](mailto:e.gluskin@groomsbridals.com)

_P.S. I work 3 to 11pm every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. You can come then. We can look at some more dresses if you desire, mister…thief?_

 

Waylon crashes onto the couch and shakes his head, feeling laughter bubble in his chest. When did the guy have time to write this anyway? __  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My way of working through writer's block...
> 
> Also, didn't realize that someone titled their story "Groom's Bride." Sorry WizardsGirl, they're so close to each other XD


End file.
